


Candy Striper

by Rabid1st



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabid1st/pseuds/Rabid1st
Summary: The Doctor shares a fantasy with Rose. This one is quite old and short and sweet. Just a little ficlet about "a shop girl."





	Candy Striper

CANDY STRIPER  
by Rabid1st  
Ten/Rose  
A little happy ficlet--short and sweet and sexy  
Rated: Teen  
No spoilers  
No beta babes  
Summary: Rose has shared a fantasy with the Doctor. Now, he must share one, too.

Disclaimer: Really, I have no rights at all to use these characters. I just can't seem to stop myself. If I am sued I intend to plead love...or insanity.

 

“Now, you,” Rose cajoled. “You've got to have one. Everybody has one.” 

The Doctor didn't want to play anymore. They were sitting together in the console room chair. Cuddled against his chest, Rose felt how stiff and uncomfortable he'd become at the idea of sharing so much. He loved hearing her heartfelt wishes, but press him for his own secrets and he tended to squirm. Staring up into his face, she watched the muscles jump in his set jaw. His furrowed brow told her he found the whole concept of forbidden desires a little hard to discuss. He tipped his head and rubbed a spot behind one ear as his face puckered in equal measures of dismay and distaste. 

“An unrealized fantasy? Things I haven't done?”

“I've told you mine. You've got to tell me yours. That's how the game is played. And I need to have some idea what to get you for your birthday.”

“But I don't pine over things,” he whined, obviously hoping she would let him off the hook. “That's a human affliction, fruitless pining.”

“I'm going to overlook the superior species business, but only this once,” Rose warned, shifting in the chair to face him squarely, denying him the full contact he craved, as he was denying her. “I know you've been practically everywhere, at least twice over, yeah? But you couldn't have possibly done everything you would have liked to do. Something must make you tingle just a little bit.”

“Well,” he drawled, lips drawing back from his teeth and his nose wrinkling, “When I was a boy, I always wanted to drive a locomotive. But I've done that.” He gave a careless little shrug. “Oh, and I'd always wanted to meet Charles Dickens.”

“But you've done that, too,” Rose said. “Nothing you've already done. Something new.”

“But if I've thought of doing it,” he said, all light and reason, “then why wouldn't I have already done it?”

“I don't know,” Rose said, sounding exasperated, “Maybe you haven't thought of it yet. Or maybe you were embarrassed or scared.”

“I don't get embarrassed. You're always saying I have no shame.”

“Oh, come on. Maybe you weren't in the right place at the right time.” She snapped her fingers. “Like the running of the bulls.” He lifted a skeptical brow at her. “Only you're a Time Lord so that probably doesn't matter.” She looked momentarily dejected. “Or...maybe there's something you needed help with...something you didn't want to ask of just anyone.”

She saw the shadow of an idea manifest in the depths of his eyes before he flicked his glance away from her. “I don't really need a birthday treat,” he said. “We can just do something you want to do come Saturday. I'm sure to enjoy it.” He stood, leaving her in their chair as he went to the console to play with his knobs and switches. 

“You've thought of something,” Rose sang. She hopped up and closed the distance between them. “Haven't you?”

“No,” he said shortly. “It's...well...it's silly.”

But, she was clinging to his arm, her cheek pillowed on his shoulder as she stared up at him with impossibly wide eyes. Her kittenish smile told him he had no hope of holding out against her. “Go on,” she purred, “tell us.”

He looked at the ceiling. He puffed out a sigh. He rocked from foot to foot and then blurted, “All right, I'd have a shop.”

That sent her reeling back a step. “A...a shop?”

“A little shop,” he said. “Like in a hospital, only not, because I hate hospitals. But somewhere...on a street corner maybe. A shop with a jingling bell over the door. And the name engraved on the window. And an old fashioned cash register with keys you have to really strike to get anywhere.” He mimed hitting a few keys with gusto. “A sweet shop.”

“With lollies and jelly babies and things?” Rose asked, tentatively feeling her way along this unexpected path.

“And proper chocolates, too,” he said, grinning as he gave in to the temptation to share. “Fancy chocolates filled with raspberries or pecans or toffee. But, yes, penny candies. Not pear drops, of course, because,” he made a disgusted noise and stuck his tongue out, “but acid drops and aniseed balls. All those sweets with the delightful names like Dip Dabs and Strawberry Bubbaloo. Curly Wurlys. Parma Violets. Bull's eyes and barley sugar. Brilliant.” 

Rose laughed as she gave a victory pump of her arm into the air. Twirling away from him, she said, “Jazzies and fizzies? That's like you, that is. Surrounded by things that could melt on your tongue.”

He lifted a smoldering eye from the monitor before him. His rising glance intersected her gaze and, not only jerked her to a stop mid-whirl but, set her knees wobbling. Her breath caught in her chest. She couldn't seem to exhale.

“And I'd have a shop girl,” he said, holding her eye and reeling her back to his side of the room with the hypnotic power of his focus, “in a pink and white striped uniform with a starched apron. They used to call them candy stripers in America. Hospital aides is your modern, more politically correct, term. They'd bring around a little cart of sweets for the good patients.”

“Bet you're a good patient.”

He admired her wolfish grin for a beat. Then, he stole it away from her by leaning into her shoulder and confiding heatedly, “Actually, I'm a very bad patient.”

Rose ran the pink tip of her tongue along her suddenly dry lips, before switching on a saucy smile. “Do I get to wear a little hat, too? One with a visor so my pony tail can dangle out the back of it?”

“And white stockings,” he said. He twitched all over as inspiration seized him by the scruff of the neck. “Oh, oh! And a pair of those oh, so sensible shoes. The ones nurses wear. So your feet won't ache in the evenings.”

“After we've closed up shop, you mean?” She layered her innocent question with suggestive undertones as her hand clasped his forearm. Quivering, he watched her stroke slowly down to his bare wrist. His mouth fell open, but all that came out of it were helpless little noises. “When we've drawn the shades and turned out the lights for the night?”

His gaze leaped up to meet hers again. “And locked the door,” he managed to say between a sharp inhale and a convulsive swallow. His voice had gone treacle toffee thick with barely contained desire. “So the bell won't...jingle. Can't have all that...that...jingling. All hours of the night. Can't have my girl too tired out.”

“Oh, no,” Rose agreed, weaving their fingers together and tugging on his hand. She guided him toward the door into the interior of the TARDIS. “Whatever would the other shop owners think of you? Working me so hard. Day and night. They'd report you to the Council.”

 

The End


End file.
